question how many votes his influence was really worth; and, somehow, I
never got very far into the pros and cons of these discussions, which
soon subsided into the fairy tale I have mentioned, and that sweet
perpendicular sleep--all the sweeter, like everything else, for being
contraband and irregular.

For one bout--I fancy a good deal longer than the others--my nap was much
sounder than before, and I opened my eyes at last with the shudder and
half horror that accompany an awakening from a general chill--a dismal
and frightened sensation.

I was facing a door about twenty feet distant, which exactly as I opened
my eyes, turned slowly on its hinges, and the figure of Uncle Lorne, in
his loose flannel habiliments, ineffaceably traced upon my memory, like
every other detail of that ill-omened apparition, glided into the room,
and crossing the thick carpet with long, soft steps, passed near me,
looking upon me with a malign sort of curiosity for some two or three
seconds, and sat down by the declining fire, with a side-long glance
still fixed upon me.

I continued gazing on this figure with a dreadful incredulity, and the
indistinct feeling that it must be an illusion--and that if I could only
wake up completely, it would vanish.

The fascination was disturbed by a noise at the other end of the room,
and I saw Lake standing close to him, and looking both angry and
frightened. Tom Wealdon looking odd, too, was close at his elbow, and had
his hand on Lake's arm, like a man who would prevent violence. I do not
know in the least what had passed before, but Lake said--